


Something More Than Death

by ellemaris



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellemaris/pseuds/ellemaris
Summary: “You’re wrong about them,” she said, just loud enough to pierce the surrounding chaos.And yes, she spoke to him, to War, but also to her, this Hecate among moral women, whom War had thrown at her feet. And as Diana turned to finish this fight, she swore she would find that woman, doctor of death and destruction, and prove to her that she could be something more than death, as Steve had been—as could the rest of mankind.





	Something More Than Death

**Author's Note:**

> the 'diana absconds with isabel to themyscira for some hurt/comfort' fic there's no logical reason for but which i'm pretty sure we all deserve anyway

“Destroy her, Diana. You know that she deserves it. They all do,” Ares growled as she shouldered the tank, feeding his truth into her frenzied rage as she wielded the weapons of man as they’d never intended.

But as Diana held that life in her hands, staring into the fear-filled eyes of the deadly Doctor Poison herself, she didn’t see the scar, the ravages of her work, the joy she had taken in her talent to maim and kill. She saw instead the eyes of a woman who had learned the evil of man. It was impossible to miss, that deep, painful understanding she herself had only just woken to reflected up at her in the eyes of a woman who had known that truth all her life. And as the doctor’s eyes fell shut, Diana saw the resignation of a woman who had long expected her death at the hands of man, who knew Diana would offer no different.

“You’re wrong about them,” she said, just loud enough to pierce the surrounding chaos.

And yes, she spoke to him, to War, but also to her, this Hecate among moral women, whom War had thrown at her feet. And as Diana turned to finish this fight, she swore she would find that woman, doctor of death and destruction, and prove to her that she could be something more than death, as Steve had been—as could the rest of mankind.

###

She found her in the wreckage. She hadn’t made it far. She lay sprawled beside a half-collapsed warehouse, a hunk of dark stone centimeters from her head hinting how she’d gotten there. When Diana knelt beside her, the doctor didn’t move, but slow, steady breaths stirred the dust around her nose and scar. Her mouth was closed.

She had wondered if she might hate her, to see her so soon after her creations had stolen something so precious from her, but she felt no different now than she had when she'd first decided to let her live. She'd built a strange sort of determination around this woman; now she had something to prove.

But alive and unattended, Diana knew, she would only return to crafting chaos.

She lifted the unconscious form in her arms. She had much still to do in this world of men, likely enough for many lifetimes, but she also had questions for her mother, and a duty to keep this small, dangerous woman from sewing any more death in her wake.

Perhaps she could kill two birds with one…

Detour.

###

As Diana could travel, unhindered by companions and mortal laws, it was a journey of mere hours rather than days. The doctor did not rouse on the road to the harbor. She began to stir once aboard the boat, fitful murmurings punctured by an unexpected scream, then silent stillness once again.

She woke as they crossed into Themyscira.

“Welcome to my home, Doctor Maru.”

As she had been through most of the journey, Isabel was silent. She blinked slowly against the sun and stared out across the water.

“Your war has ended. I’ve brought you to a place where you cannot take part in creating another.”

She studied the woman’s face, unreadable and unresponsive to Diana’s words.

“You will wait here.”

She was offered no reply. Diana did not believe the doctor would run or fling herself into the sea. She left her anchored a ways from the beach, leapt into the sand, and fell into her mother’s arms.

After careful words of explanation—

”First a spy, now a war-criminal, Diana? You are not a child any longer, to bring home injured pets to my care.”

—and greetings cut far too short—

”But I did not know if you would be able to return to me at all. If I must welcome her to have you home again, then she is welcome.”

—Diana went to retrieve her burden.

She had requested a room, fresh water, and time before any decisions were made, so Doctor Maru stepped from the ship, unsteady but unaided, and was led into deserted streets. There would be another moment to meet the guardians of her penance.

Diana beckoned her into a room, high-ceilinged and awash in daylight.

“You will do no harm here,” she said.

Still silent, Isabel sat heavily on the nearest bench below the largest window, bracing herself with an arm against the stone. With the white cliffs and brilliant midday sun at her back, the doctor looked small and dark, shrinking into the high collar of her industrial coat despite her rigid spine.

Diana closed the door behind them and drew closer. “Here, you will have rest, safety, and healing.”

She scowled. “I do not need healing.”

Diana reached out and turned the Doctor’s face towards her with one finger pressed to the unblemished skin on the lower curve of her jaw. She tried to flinch away, but Diana wouldn’t allow it. She stared pointedly at the cracked, oozing edges of the doctor’s scar, damaged and aggravated in the dust and flames and fighting. “You do.”

She jerked free of Diana’s touch. “It will heal, as it always has.”

“It does not need to be so painful.”

“I am accustomed to the pain.”

“You don’t need to punish yourself,” said Diana, voice soft.

Her words were met with a scowl. “Who do you believe did this to me? A spill, an accident, a spurned lover? No.” She laughed, then flinched, cupping her cheek in one hand. “You do not know me.”

Diana reached beside her, drawing a cool, damp cloth from the basin beneath the window. She twisted it in her hands. Excess water dripped down her wrists and splashed against the stone, glimmering faintly with phosphorescent half-light.

“Let me see,” she insisted.

Isabel’s hand did not move.

Diana reached out, taking the doctor’s wrist gently but firmly in her own. She lowered it beside her, pressed carefully against the bench.

“Please be still. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then do not touch me.”

Diana ignored her words, and Isabel did not pull away when the cloth rose towards her. She started on the right, gently cleaning soot and grime from the pristine skin on the half of her face she preferred to show to the world. The doctor stared into her eyes through every movement, unflinching, unblinking, and unreadable. She set aside the cloth, exchanging it for a clean one, before beginning to clear the irritants and decay from the dark hollow on the left.

When Diana’s touch remained gentle and sure, she saw some measure of tension fade from Isabel’s shoulders. She took meticulous care with the fragile strings of skin and sinew that just barely held together the remnants of Doctor Maru’s cheek, until the only discoloration that remained was that of dead and long-dying flesh, beyond her care. When she lowered the cloth and traced the furrowed skin just below the worst of the darkness with her thumb, Isabel finally looked away.

“You did this to yourself?” Diana asked quietly, interpreting her earlier words.

She reached again towards the basin, this time retrieving a small, earthenware jar of salve.

The doctor straightened and extended a hand. “I can do this for myself.”

Diana shook her head. “There is no mirror in this room, and your hand is shaking.”

Isabel flinched, pulling her wrist close to her stomach. Her face clouded, consumed by cold fury at even the slightest acknowledgment of weakness.

“You were hit quite hard. You're lucky not to have fractured your skull, and you are strong to even be upright.”

She dipped two finger into the jar, leaned closer, and braced her elbow on the window-ledge.

Isabel turned away. “Yes, I did this.”

Diana stilled her hand.

“When the soldiers talk of it, they say I did it to measure the pain. That I had to know I had created the finest caliber of torture, and would trust no one else to tell me it was so.”

Diana recognized the distraction for what it was, though she was unsure what the doctor hoped to gain from not allowing her to tend her wound. Still, it was her own question, and her curiosity insisted she encourage the answer. “I have heard how the men in the trenches speak of you, though I had not heard that tale.”

“It isn’t true.”

Diana waited out the explanation in silence.

“Oh, do not doubt that I revel in devising new ways to suffer, but this I did to prove myself. To prove my work. There is very little in this world that will convince men you are worthy of their time. They will not listen when you speak. They will only admit you share their language if you speak it in pain and death.”

She coughed, then, a harsh, aching sound that made Diana wonder just how far these chemical scars had clawed their way into her body. She cleared her throat, and met Diana’s eyes once more.

“What price have you paid, what have you suffered, to fight beside them?”

Her voice was raw and rasping, low and full of pain. It was accusation and dismissal in one, disbelief that anything Diana could say would measure up against her pride and sacrifice.

Diana reached out with both hands, cupping Isabel’s chin in her left as she began to apply the salve with her right. As she worked, she answered as simply as she could.

“I do not come from the world of men.”


End file.
